Bill "The Crusher" vs Spectre — Extended Pinfall

[Monsy]

The Saturday Show

A match with a standard ruleset, taking place in The Open Bottle! Winner by a 5 count pinfall!

[Lycanstar]

The "Invitation" one could say was rather ominous seeming in nature, as Bill had hardly expected anything of the sorts to come His way. Having dominated a majority of His matches in LAW it was clear as to the kind of character He was; Where His intentions and motivations lay and the sort of damage He was capable of inflicting. So when He was personally invited to a 5-count Pinfall Only bout at the Madison Gambit, it seemed almost too opportune of a chance for Him.

Although the idea of attending such a hotel outside of the confines of a wrestling match was intriguing; Bill was hardly the kind to give much of Himself away so easily. The entire weekend up until His bout, He may as well have not been considered to have attended at all considering nobody had gotten a single glimpse of His mask anywhere in the building. It wasn't until about 15 minutes before His scheduled bout in The Open Bottle club and bar that His masked presence was finally shown to one of the backstage producers.

Bill hardly dressed differently for the occasion; opting for His typical "Minimal requirement" for matches while continuing to conceal his identity behind a skull themed mask; His beady white irises being the only thing indicating there was a man behind that intimidating visage. The venue hardly mattered to Bill at all- The sort of confidence that comes with never expecting to lose made Him act as if He could have been anywhere tonight but His goal and determination would remain the same- Vengeance.

His opponent was known as Spectre. A scheming and malicious Woman who had been running roughshot through LAW with reckless abandon- Seemingly having not a single ounce of remorse or care for those She battered along the way; In particular, Bill's tag team partner Kasey Crass. In Spectre's debut, Kasey was beaten into a rough and submissive state, managing to get in a few decent shots but not enough to stop the overwhelming brutality Spectre had brought to the table. Perhaps it was that match that had garnered some sympathy from Bill in the first place, seeing Kasey as a sort of downtrodden man in need of a little confidence. Or perhaps Bill truly yearned to form a bond within this world- It was hard even for Bill to understand what had compelled Him to take Kasey under his wing. But He knew the opportunity to dish out some justice to the Woman that had helped dig Kasey deeper into his broken state would be something to celebrate. And so with seconds remaining before His entry, Bill took in a deep breath.

THE FOLLOWING IS A NO DISQUALIFICATION, 5-COUNT PINFALL MATCH!!! MAKING HIS WAY TO THE RING- BILL THE CRUSHER!!!

Spoiler

Bill stepped out into the bar through the makeshift rampway that had been set up and took in the area. While more of a tight space than the typical LAW arena, it would be just as fine for utter domination as any other venue would. With attendees and patrons in close proximity to the ring, all eyes were on the masked man as His mostly exposed body made its way down ringside and stepped onto the steel stairs. The proximity of tables, chairs, bottles and even the audience itself caused a slight thought of how Spectre would go about attempting to beat Bill tonight. No doubt She would have something malicious planned, but as to what that was exactly would remain to be seen.

After concluding His scan of the nearby environment Bill stepped over the ropes and into the ring, proceeding straight to the opposite corner from the entryway and propped Himself against the turnbuckle. It was clear from His stance He was no nonsense- The way His mask's visage glared without diverting from the curtain was almost hypnotic in nature. Spectre was moments away from facing justice like She had never experienced before.

[Monsy]

NOTE

A co-written post with the help of @Malkavia and her character, Dot.

A mismatch like this? Whatever dork-dog who -thought- they were setting her up, could only be her newest fuckin' ally. "The double-duty. Can ya imagine? A one-way meal ticket to anyone we want next." Spectre and Dot tossed a rubber ball across a table of chipset junk, going over opening thoughts that something like...

"Too bad we can't lock up Bonehead McMusclebutt here..." Dot said, holding it momentarily before tossing it casually. "Why not?" Spectre softly replied back. How she usually was in private. Not quite a whisper, but something appropriate for a library. They went back and forth.

“‘Cause. He’s like. Five thousand pounds dry, and like fuck am I dragging that up three flights of stairs."
“You’ll be fine. Just lift with your thick ass legs.”
“I’ll lift you by your fuckin’ legs.”

Spectre stood up, then smugly said. “You couldn’t even lift the new TV. Try it—”

Dot thought about it, but not a second later she swatted away Spectre's pushing hand coming for her shoulder.

“—Put ‘em up.”

One reached for a grab. The other swatted, then got grabbed by the wrist. They pushed with their arms against arms, quickly standing from their chairs and teeing off in a semi one-sided contest with Spectre’s feet sliding across the floor. Dot went low, scooped Spectre up over-shoulder, who cinched a headlock, pulled back and was standing on one foot. In return, she tickled behind Spectre’s knee.

“Stop—” Spectre jolted, “—Quit it.” The tickle on her side made her spasm with near-giggles, curling her body away. The two backed and hit a table. “Klutzy ass.” “Lizard legs.” Then they forward and hit a support beam in the room. “Oof—” Dot bunched both legs together with her arms, shoulder into Speck’s hips against the beam holding her pinned.

Naturally, she gives her index a lick, then touches Dot’s ear. She shrieks, lets Spectre go and takes a step to the side, feeling her skin crawl even as a grin split her face. “Ooohoho you fuuuuuckin’ nasty-ass piece a’—” She said in a loud whisper, firmly charlie-horsing the retreating Spectre, making her light jog off to the layer’s kitchenette, holding her behind. “My fuckin’ asshole—. You cunt.” After a moment, Spectre was on the other side of the room, setting up the rice cooker and talking softly. “Put on somethin of his. Time to get serious.”

“Yah-yah. Call it a draw, yeah?” Dot replies.
“No way.”
“!”

Spectre made brown rice. Dot came by to make a new pack of ramen she got from the vending machine a block down. They chatted about a new movie they pirated. One Dot was looking forward to. Monday, night after Gambit, they’ll get the projector going.

For now though, they watched Bill's match content with their lunch. What they saw was, of course. Crushing. This-that-who. It didn’t matter, as this guy had steel for skin and muscle on his fucking pinky. The numbers just didn’t lie. Even between the both of them, with Spectre on Dot’s shoulders ( which she did consider and test out ), they’d still not reach nor match the force output. She’d have to get access to his temple or destroy his fucking dick with Punch-A-Gun. Or maybe Dot’s mallet. Ever-reliable, with a huge base. That would wreck his guts. Hm~Hm~

Nah.

They can do better than that. First by sending a couple of guys on retainer to go tail him over the next two weeks, camera-equipped and all to uncover what they can leading towards Madison Gambit. Not as expensive as one might think around here. And while she took the lead on gathering one of the important pieces of intel, Dot was sent to secure the second piece: Kasey Crass.

“Should be easy if you ask him real nicely.” Spectre said, extending a taser and set of van keys to Dot from her stool. Dot took them, rolled her wrist around and pondered. An idea still wrapped in its tinfoil sprang up. “Why don’t I surprise ya?” Before handing it back, getting a puzzled look from her boss. “Oh yeah?” She replied. Then Dot continued, “Trust in your mate here, cap. The shit I’ve got stewing? It’ll blow your mind to bits.”

Spectre chuffed from her nose.

“Bet five bucks on it?”
“Ten.”
“Done. Room 302 at Madisons. By evening.”
“Consider him bound and waiting.”

Before going back to her workbench, plotting down in the stool and picking up a micro tool.

“Get some eggs too, if you’re going out. We’ve ran out… … … Thanks.”



Next up: DEPLOY THE DOT!

AND AWAY SHE GOES!

She didn’t need weapons or force. Just a little dress-up, changing from the feline backbone of the SpeckNet operation to a travel agent working to make the itinerary for all wrestlers work for the bottom line and a speeeectacular experience! As a big IMPORTANT superstar, could only go unrecognized for so long. And it just so happened: Up-top has big plans for you! They want you in this new special room to get ready for a huge opportunity to turn that jobber frown upside down.

All this game needed was a few extras, a rented limousine and a ride full of good wine and back and forth about how Kasey rose to this point: a LAW Superstar. Once he was tied over, buying into the fun, getting him to the room was as easy as… ‘taking care of it’ for him, to any front desk receptionists and luggage folk.

-KONK!!-

Then nailing Kasey once inside room 302 with a one-handed, small version of her much bigger hammer. A homemade mallet -- Because you gotta do something with all these itty-bitty scraps. Like an endoskeleton of a T-800, equipped with party tricks and well on its way to looking like the real damn thing. Long-term project, tarped in a corner on a hand cart, allowing herself to have some side fun making the metal appear… Arnold-y. Between this and the knocked out Man at her feet. This was good.

And later, the Captain came by to see her wrap their sleeping captive in cords and cable around an office chair. Wrists, ankles, then torso. A Christmas Tree in urban garland that would even impress Spiderman with her webbings. Spectre came with a cleaning cart, dressed in maid uniform, hair done up and wearing gothic makeup Dot did before they left.

“Change into this.” Says the boss, who’s reaching underneath the cart to grab an extra fit. “I got Kat’s catnip ready to go.”

“Right-o! Annnnd, if our friend wakes up, your contingency plan iiiis…?” Dot says. Spectre said nothing at first, reaching underneath the cart to pull a leather purse. And inside, Spectre drew a syringe and needle with a glass guard. She took it off, then stuck him in the shoulder with sedative. “You.” She says, then re-stows the needle into the purse and onto the cart, tossing the uniform. Dot holds it to herself, looking down and scanning for a missing piece.

“Oi, Speck. What’s a maid without the footwear?”
“I didn’t know your shoe size.” Spectre began pushing the cart at slow pace.

“Pft. Shit, you coulda asked, yanno.” Dot went around to the door, opening it while completing the last fixtures. The cap and white sleeves. Spectre waited, looking puzzled at the cart. She likely questioned why she’s entertaining this conversation. “How?” But she does anyway.

“Welllllll you’d flap your lips a bit like hey fuckface, how big’s your stompers?!” Here, Dot pitched her voice as gravelly and deep as if she were imitating the pit fiend himself—though without raising her hushed-whisper volume. “Aaaand then. You know. I’d tell you. Magic, right?.” So Dot is eager to jab.

“Yah. HoW Big’S YOuR StOMPeRs? Spoken like an adept foot fetishist.”

They kept talking while heading out the door, pushing the cart along as the conversation continued into the halls.

“You’re the one who’s got me doing this mission barefoot, cap.”
“Uuuuhuh. You ever do any ‘missions’ with him barefoot?”
“Fuckin’ excuse me—?”
“I knew it. You're into man feet.”
“...Christ on a stick, Speck. Asking for fuckin’ foot size is…a perfectly normal question!”
“What normal person randomly asks for someone’s foot size?”
“Literally everyone who plans anything with a dress code?”
“...Why don’t you ever ask mine then?”
“I already know it.”
“Huh?-- How?”
Deadpan. “Your boots are beside mine at the front door.”
“And you’re just constantly observing the schematics of different shoe sizes?”
“There’s a number on the fuckin’ sole.”
“...So you’re stalking me.” She gritted her teeth “....What is your shoe size, partner of mine?”
Smugly, Dot replied with a chipper tone. “Nine.”



SATURDAY EVENING: THE OPEN BOTTLE

A night of noise. Just not the usual wrestling crowd. This was a hodgepodge of various faces from different social classes. There was just as much rich folk, dinner guests, jazz connoisseurs, working professional, all capitalising on a spectacle like it's another cabaret circus act, to the avid wrestling fan burning through social security to attend all they can in this -once in a revival- experience, as Maisilyn royally touts on-stage, middle of the ring, announcing the start of their match.

“And it’s in my professional opinion. That -sometimes-, business just works out by itself. Just like matches… make itself. Karma… makes itself. And while I, your host, would never go so low to declare a favourite in -any- of this. I, the consumer, still keep an image to myself that I can’t wait to see, and I’m willing to bet our first entrant… shares my vision. So without further adieu…” Maisilyn’s hand extends towards the prepared walking path, with Maze sitting on a suspended framework from the ceiling, casting a big light where Maisilyn cued. “Bill, The Crusher versus… The Malevolent Virus, Spectre. Extended Pinfall match.”

Afterwards, Maze shut off the flashlight, spying an unknown figure that didn’t have company colours on his workwear, wading through the crowd instead of the employee route behind the bar. It was most likely nothing, but the memo in the breakroom said “Don’t wait, call now!” on a poster plastered on the fridge. And if a message so important was placed upon our important food in this… important Hotel she worked at, then that means there’s only one course of action.



AT THE FRONT DESK...

As Bill’s entrance was being lined up, Maze went to the front desk, holding up her big flashlight. She flashed it on and off in Hina Sugiyama’s face who shielded herself, then pointed towards the Open Bottle.

“What… Are you doing?” Hina said, previously working on her terminal, handling bookings and checking new vacancies. Maze stopped. Rolling her eyes, she went around to get behind the desk, going over to the control panel to start mimicking switching the lights on and off.

“Stop acting like Jim Carrey, you craze-ball! I really need to work. Can you -please- go be schizo elsewhere?”

Maze put a finger up. She traced fingers around her eyes, made a mean mug, then wiggled her fingers in-front of herself to convey ghoulishness. Attempted, anyway.

“Are you saying something is -actually- wrong? This isn’t another poisoned herbal tea in the lunchroom thing, right?” … “Ah. Mmgh-.” … “Well that’s just unfortunate. Because I’m very busy, like, full of guests I need to inform about… Our weekly special at… Full Glass. Buy your date a martini and get the first one free. You know? You and Boss would love that one.”

But Maze already got into the key panel, taking off with their maintenance room that wasn’t reeeeeally meant for either of them. Unless something really-really important was about to happen and if Hina didn’t at least investigate, then she’d be useless and low-effort and how would she keep a job at that point. “Wait-.” She followed.



THE OPEN BOTTLE MAINTENANCE ROOM...

Being back there was almost like whiplash. One moment, you’re living in a palace that’s far-far away, welcoming new visitors like they’re crossing the border into a new country. Back here: it was all plain concrete. Wooden shelves. Blues and greys. Pipes. Modern.

“Is something wrong here?” Hina asked, only realizing that’s a stupid question when the door closed. She was a self-made captive on this march towards ungracious termination. Or was she an enabler watching Maze inspect locks? First on the door, then over on the control panel. Maze checked the key. Sure enough, it worked. Hina was almost relieved. Maybe if she said nothing, Maze would be open to seeing this old DVD she bought. “You could be just… overly concerned.” She started, watching Maze look for inconsistencies, then opening the cleaner’s closet. “Maybe we can go back out, so you can stop anything if it does happen. Sounds fair? Also— If you are free after work…”

They hear something at the exit. Maze grabs onto Hina’s wrist, yanking her into the closet and shutting the door behind them. Someone walked in. The echoing room filled Hina’s head with unreasonable paranoia from watching the Scream series last Wednesday. Now it’s her point in the movie, with no furniture to stop him--.

And Maze peeked out. It was a guy in blue workwear and jeans. Looked a bit built. Bigger. But his weird baseball cap threw Maze wrong. Along with a duffle bag that looked new, unworn and didn’t really sag in a way that suggested tools or anything electrical. So Maze stepped out, posturing a firm stance between the guy and the door. Hina walked out.

“Oh. You’re here to fix an electrical problem?” She said with relief again, feeling a sweat on her forehead, cheeks flushed. The guy turned around, looked at them coldly, then nodded. “Tripped breaker. Checking it.” Hina felt a squeeze in her stomach, then glanced at Maze. “If you don’t mind me asking. What breaker was it? That’s the subpanel for the club.”

“Kitchen.”
“I saw the lights just thirty seconds ago, though.”
“Go ask your boss. I’m busy.” Said the maintenance worker, then turned back around. Maze grabbed his bag strap. The man instantly swiped with a back-fist, which Maze leaned back from, then used his shove attempt to grab his index, bending it way back along with his wrist, forcing him to dip like from a dance.

“Crap-crap-- Maze, when did you learn that??” Said Hina, thinking of the write-up and what Miss Osbourne said about leaving their post during the Gambit. But she did have a clear thought. “You’re supposed to be wearing red, you know? Company policy for our maintenance guys…” Maze handed the duffle bag off to Hina who took it with a small dread in her eyes, going over to a shelf to easily open it. “This is a -really really- bad look for us. We’re going to get fired and there’s nothing we can do noooooow…” A spider-drone. Black, with eight mechanical black limbs, small like pens or compass tools.

“It’s a robot?” Hina half-confidently declares.

Maze wrenches the guy’s finger, making him twist and groan. “It’s a -- YES! I don’t know. All I was told is to place the device on the panel and activate it. Then she’d hand over some… Things of mine.” Maze was quiet. “Honest.” They said,

Hina continued to mess with it. BOOP! A Purple Chrome Skull came on.

THE FOLLOWING IS A NO DISQUALIFICATION, 5-COUNT PINFALL MATCH!!! MAKING HIS WAY TO THE RING- BILL THE CRUSHER!!!

“Oh, I did something.” Then the thing started moving. “EW-EW-EW!” Before moving back, her heart jumped from her chest as the spider-bot flipped itself over, then started crawling around the room like an arachnid roomba. “Great. I don’t know what it does.” Said the guy on the ground. Maze had the exact same thought, but looked at the closet instead, going to grab both mops and throwing one to Hina. Maze swats the guy’s wrist trying to get up, with Hina supportively adding… “Stay…” in a tone that -attempted- to sound serious and scary, but went how you’d tell a dog to wait for its bone.

They both took ready spearman postures, aimed and slowly approached the scurrying roomba spider-bot. And all Hina could think about was Karate Kid. Woman who can catch spider with mop, accomplish anything.

Please and thank you.



ITSSSSS SHOWTIME!

Outside the Open Bottle in the lobby, an elevator dinged, its cage doors opening slowly. Three unconscious police officers laid prone on the floor around her. She stepped out in full colours, smoking in one hand. The black and midnight purple leotard, a matching cape hanging low by her calves. Two arm sleeves, black nails, red and purple lipstick. Exposed sides, upper back, chest window with crossing straps and a thin belly, smooth and flat.

She strode to the front desk with a singular employee greeting her normally. “Oh, hello! Is that--” Then her eyes woke to the situation. “Oh.” Then nodded her head, “Uhm-.” And Spectre leaned to the counter, saying. “I know you have Madison on that phone. Dial her.”

Her palms sweat. The employee took a breath, then replied. “Miss Madison is extremely busy. Can I take a message?” Which Spectre simply grabbed the landline, put it on the counter, picked up the receiver and asked again. “Number?”

They thought about it, then after a pause, conceded… “Six, six, six.”

Spectre sneered, dialled, then waited for Maisilyn to pick up.

“Hello, dear. How can I help?”
“Six-six-six. Really?”
“Ah, it’s just you. Hello Spectre. Running a little late?”
“Despite your best efforts, not in the slightest.”
“Is something the matter?”
“Yeah. Since when did the cafeteria satanist work with pigs?”
“Let me guess. You treated them like your own petwo lwa ceremony?” Maisilyn chuckled.
“You’re digging a fast grave.”
Maisilyn paused, suddenly encouraged to be serious. “The one who suggested we call the authorities was someone who didn’t want you hurt. She’s a sweet tart. I, on the other hand, am much open to having my wrestling colleagues handle it.”
"You have a bias.”
“I have a business. You’re both a liability and a commodity.”

Spectre chuffed her nose, pulling into a soft wrinkle. “I can be much more of one in two minutes.”

“Don’t be late then.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Spectre casually threw the phone at the receptionist’s face, then tured around sharply and headed for the doors of The Open Bottle, where Dot was taking centre stage in the ring, acting out a fanfare of mannerisms as she spoke to flatter and dazzle. "MAKE WAY, SHIT-FOR-BRAINS! NOW IT'S TIME FOR PUBLIC ENEMY NUUUUUMBER ONE! I SAID, NUMBER ONE! THAT'S RIGHT. STANDING AT A TERRIBLE FIVE FOOT ONE. In the mornings. AND WEIGHING IN AT AN EVEN MORE SINISTER ONE-HUNDRED POUNDS. SHE IS THE BADDEST, MOST EVIL, AND BEST LOOKING MALEVOLENT SPECTACLE THIS SIDE OF THE RING OF FIRE! THREE JEERS FOR SPEEEEEEECTREEEE!"

Hip-Hip-BOOOOOO!

The crowds jeered as intended, with Dot throwing down a smoke bomb to -POOF!- off the scene. Spectre was at the door, and the crowd shouted profanity and backed away as she walked down the path. Her hands spread out, grazing the table cloth with her fingers. She pinched one on either side, pulling it and ruining two entrees, a beer, and three dishes into a floor gumbo.

She went on, reaching ringside were she made a slow ascent up the steps, raising her arms out to the side. A cue for Dot on an iPad. Beep-boop. Four jets of purple flame shot up in tall spires for five seconds. Half the crowd gasped. The other half popped with mesmerizing surprise. She can see Maisilyn across the Bottle, staring coldly. But without delay, she jumped for the second turnbuckle pad and backflipped into the ring, then rolled her shoulders and finally…

“Hey, muscle-brains.” A normal-volume voice spoke, with Spectre touching on her earpiece and turning around after speaking. She chose a shameless scheming grin, peering up with fearless faith in her own machination -- suggesting loudly that while she was prepared. And he was not. “I said. Hey.” And her voice carried across the Bottle much further, overpowering the soft noise till even the casual diners couldn’t help but look.

“Hmph. You’re not going to want to lay a single finger on me. Not a single punch. Not one knee. Because -I- have something fun to share. Care to listen? Your boy-toy depends on it.”